The Storm
by xBear0
Summary: Two teens fed up with life lash out against society and go on a cold and calculated killing spree. Sam is convinced he can talk them down, but the shooters have other plans.
1. Prologue

Ethan's felt his sweaty hand tighten around his revolver. The trigger was pulled half-way and he could see the hammer drawing back, ready to send a .357 calibre 125 grain hollow point bullet into the terrified strawberry-blonde teen that he clutched tightly against himself.

Noticing the subtle change in the suspect's disposition, the three heavily-armed police officers training their MP5 submachineguns on the suspect removed their fingers from the index position, and placed them on the triggers of their weapons. "Boss, subject is escalating," whispered one into his headset.

"You don't have to do this," said the sandy-blond police officer leading the 3 officers with guns. The officer kept his hands visible in an attempt to present himself less aggressively. "There's always a way out, Ethan. Trust me." He gestured as he spoke, delivering his message as much in his body language as in his speech.

Behind the stoic face that Ethan put on for the four jack-booted thugs pointing guns at him was a genuine fear that things would not be alright. That things wouldn't go to plan. Ethan and Tyler had spent a whole year planning this moment. They had spent the whole year planning their endgame-the confrontation. Inside this high-school library, they would end their day of reckoning, and show the world their awesome power one last time. At least that was what Tyler promised.

But Ethan began to have doubts. What if the pigs stopped Tyler? What if he bailed? The dead silence over Ethan's earpiece unnerved him. After what he had done today, he could never go back to the life he once lived. Surrender was not an option, the only escape was death. The voice of the cop who he presumed to be the negotiator went through one ear and out the other. Everything he said was all rhetoric to him.

Feelings of betrayal began to sweep through Ethan. The voice of the negotiator became distant as he realised the mistake he had made trusting Tyler. Knowing him, he should've seen this moment coming. He closed his eyes realising what he had to do.

"I'm in position."

Relief rushed through Ethan's body. Tyler hadn't abandoned him. Things were still going to plan.

"Kill the weak ones." said Tyler.

"Godspeed." Ethan replied.

"Fuck god."

Ethan turned his gun on the negotiator and fired.


	2. Chapter 1: Storm Watch

[8 Hours Earlier]

Inside Ethan Storm's bedroom, the cold, robotic voice of a computer somewhere near the CN Tower repeated its message for the umpteenth time.

"Weatherradio Canada. 162.4 MhZ, CN Tower. 6:00 EST. Environment Canada on September 11 2014 has issued a severe thunderstorm watch for the following areas: Barrie-Orillia-Midland, City of Hamilton, City of Toronto, Dufferin-Innisfil, Halton-Peel, Oxford-Brant, Waterloo-Wellington, and York-Durham..."

It was 6 AM and Ethan Storm was already packing his bag for school. Inside his bag was a biology textbook, a functions textbook, and a 7.62 pump-action rifle. Beside his bed, his weather-radio alarm clock delivered its ominous, prophetic warning again in French.

"Radiometeo Canada. 162,4 MhZ, Tour CN. 6H00 HNE. Environnement Canada, le 11 septembre 2014 a emis une alerte d'orages violents pour les regions suivantes..."

Waking up to the computerised voice of the emergency weather station was one of the things that Ethan would miss most about being alive, along with the people, the sights, and the smells. _Well not really._ Ethan thought. To him, the things that made life magical had lost their magic long ago. The happiness found in the burden of existence was a delusion. The lived-happily-forever-after endings of fairy tales and Disney films were straight-up lies. Long ago, Ethan had woken up from the delusion that others lived under.

He retrieved a shoebox from under his bed and opened it, revealing two handguns: a Glock and a Colt. The Colt was a .357 revolver. The Glock was a .45 calibre striker-fired pistol. Around the guns were speed-loaders and magazines.

Ever since he realised the truth, Ethan always wondered how others could live life as they did. Ethan didn't live life; he endured it. He envied how others, the sheeple, could live so ignorantly of the reality around them. _Eat, sleep, shit, fuck, and die. That's all there is to life besides suffering._

Ethan picked up a speedloader holding "Black Talon" bullets, and loaded his revolver.

Dubbed "cop-killers" by the media, Black Talon bullets expand after impact, ballooning in size to increase damage to its target. In other words, it was just another hollow-point bullet. Ethan would've bought cheaper bullets in higher quantities, but it was Tyler who called the shots. Using that particular brand of bullets was part of the plan.

Today was 9/11: the day 19 men under another brand of fairy-tales and lies died for their twisted cause. Today, Ethan and Tyler would bring honour and truth back to 9/11. 9/11 will be remembered as it should be. Ethan entered his parents' room.

The task was simple, and there was relatively little mess. Not bad for his first time killing.

Ethan went to his sister Sharon's room next.

Sharon was away at university. This meant that Ethan wouldn't get the chance to kill her.

Sharon had betrayed him. He had given her all his trust, but instead of giving him understanding, she turned his world upside down, and used his deepest secret against him. She manipulated him-manipulated his idolatry of her for her own gain.

But as much as he realised how foolish his forbidden yearning was, Ethan couldn't help but still feel love for her. In the time that she was away, Ethan's anger towards her had been given time to cool. A small part of held on to the feelings he once felt towards her.

Ethan left a letter on her computer desk. Feeling unusually sentimental, he decided to bring a little piece of her with him. The small cotton garment still smelled like her.

At 6:30 Ethan grabbed his duffel bag and backpack and set off to Tyler's house.

* * *

Sam took the exit on Bayview Avenue today. While Highway 401 was always jammed this time of day, especially on the stretch close to the interchange for Highway 404, Sam hadn't expected traffic to be this bad. Sure it was raining, but the rain was barely a light drizzle. How could someone have possibly crashed?

While better than the highway, driving down Bayview was no walk in the park either. Construction had reduced traffic on both sides of the road to one lane. The drive down York Mills Road was much better, and the last stretch of Sam's commute which involved going north on Leslie Road was a cakewalk.

When Sam arrived at SRU headquarters, the first thing he noticed was the white armoured vehicle with red and blue Toronto Police decals sitting in the parking lot. Sam recognised it as an RG-31 MRAP. The vehicle was a common sight in the Canadian military, but Canadian police forces rarely had armoured vehicles, much less used them. As Sam inspected the vehicle, Ed approached him, holding the keys.

"Cool toy, eh? It's a gift from the military."

"A gift? These things cost almost $50000 a pop."

"Well it's technically on loan to us. The 32nd Combat Engineer Regiment trains their mechanics with this one. The guy that drove it here says the turret got hit with an RPG in a battle near FOB Frontenac in Afghanistan, screwing up the wiring."

Sam felt a flicker of recognition. Ed continued.

"They fixed the hull, but the turret was too damaged. By the time they were able to order a new one the war was over."

"Sounds like one hell of a story. So is Team One getting another MRAP?"

"Actually, someone pulled some strings, and Commander Hollerand says that Team Three gets it. I guess it pays to have connections, eh Sam?"

Ed handed the keys to the vehicle to Sam. When Sam opened the driver's side door, sure enough, written in Sharpie, it was there.

_Mcpl Matt X. TF KBAR CANSOFCOM_

Sam climbed into the front passenger's seat. The same seat he had taken when his unit was clearing out a Taliban stronghold. The same seat he had taken the day Matt died.

The official story was that the vehicle was hit by an RPG, and Matt been shot climbing out of the hole in the roof. In reality, Matt was hit through the windshield of the vehicle by friendly fire.

The day Matt died, Sam radioed command to confirm he was cleared to fire, and was sure to report that there was an MRAP in the AO. Command had cleared him to fire on the MRAP, so that was what he did. 1500 kilometres away, Sam fired a single shot into the windshield of the MRAP. It killed his best friend instantly. An hour later, when Sam's unit returned to perform site exploitation, he was the one to make the discovery. Matt was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

It took a change of occupation before Sam could move on from Matt's death. In the time he spent as a civilian police officer, Sam learned to accept that he could make mistakes. He learned to accept loss, and forgive himself.

Sam climbed out of the vehicle. Now the leader of SRU Team 3, Sam had new-found responsibilities. He had to brief the team on the day's patrol. Sam entered SRU headquarters, and headed straight for the briefing room.

* * *

When Ethan arrived at Tyler's house, Tyler was already done loading the car. Ethan placed his duffle bag and backpack in the back seat of Tyler's 2003 Toyota Camry. "Are you ready?" asked Tyler. "Better than ready," replied Ethan.

"Jews, Jocks, Gypsies, Asians, Negroes, fuck 'em all. Today, we kill them all."

"Godspeed."

"Fuck God. We're better than God. We're Tyler-motherfucking-Frost and Ethan-the-fucking-Storm. We're gonna show the world not to fuck with us!"


	3. Chapter 2: Movement

**A/N: Apologies for any offence caused by Ethan and Tyler's dialogue. Their dialogue in the previous chapter seemed a little heavy to me as well. Reviews are dearly appreciated, thanks.**

* * *

Inside the briefing room of SRU headquarters, Team Three sat around a large meeting table, notepads ready, awaiting the day's briefing. Sam stood behind a wooden podium in front of a projection screen shuffling papers. He picked up a remote and cleared his throat.

"Okay team, I've just finished reading over the checklists, and everything seems in order. Today teams one and three are on patrol, and two will be training here at HQ. Four is on leave."

Team Three consisted of eight men, each selected for a specific aptitude that would complement their role on the team. Jason was an SRU veteran, and Sam's first logical choice when choosing a second-in-command. Roger was an expert marksman, and the team's Sierra One. Tyrone was the team's hand-to-hand combat expert. Kyle was the oldest member of the team, and a veteran cop that had a knack for reading people. Stephen was ex-army and the team's Sierra Two. Rob was a former Mountie and army reservist. The final member of the team was demolitions expert and tech genius Spike, who turned down lucrative job offers from the national spy agencies CSIS and CSEC to stay with Sam and the SRU. "I joined the police to make a difference, and I didn't see myself doing that as a spook." he explained to Sam almost a year ago on Sam's first day as team leader.

Sam pressed a button on the remote. The projection behind him changed from the SRU logo to a map of the city.

"As you may of heard, the new Superintendent over at 31 Division didn't like how every then and again 'heavily armed storm-troopers' would patrol his division. He petitioned the chief to stop SRU patrols in his part of North York, and the chief obliged. Anyone want to take a guess where our new AO is?"

"33 Division?" suggested Jason.

"53 Division?" said Spike.

"54 Division?" suggested Roger.

Sam clicked the remote again zooming in to the east side of the city.

"Wrong, wrong, and wrong. The chief wants us as far as possible from Jane and Finch so we're patrolling 42 Division. We'll start in Vic Park, and sweep our way east until we get to Malvern. Barring any tactical calls, we should have a relatively uneventful day. Any questions?"

* * *

While Constable Ben Tremblay wasn't a rookie, he sure felt like he was being treated as one on his first day on the job in Toronto. While he did spend most of his career as a highway cop out in the woods of Trenton, he wasn't totally oblivious to what big-city policing entailed. "Turn on your lights and sirens."

"I know how to do a damn traffic stop, you don't need to remind me." snapped his partner Andy.

"Just saying, geez."

As the Toyota Camry in front of them pulled over, Ben searched the car's licence plate in the police database. The car came back as registered to a Hector Frost. Satisfied that the stop would be just another routine traffic stop, Ben and Andy exited their cruiser and approached the idling Camry.

Andy approached the driver's side, while Ben approached the passenger's side two steps behind. The driver of the vehicle was a teen, 16-18 years of age, with short dark-brown hair and piercing blue eyes. He wore a multicam hunting jacket and had a dark grey hoodie underneath. The passenger was a teen with lighter hair, about the same age, with green eyes, and light freckles dotting his face. He wore a zipped-up black windbreaker.

"Licence, insurance, and registration please."

"Yeah, sure. Just a second..."

The teen reached into a pocket of his jacket.

* * *

When Ethan saw Tyler's hand extend into his jacket, his heart jumped. Unbeknownst to Tyler, another pig was approaching from the rear. If Tyler shot the cop at the driver's window with the revolver he kept in his jacket, the other cop would return fire, leading to a premature demise. All their plans would go down the drain.

"Your wallet's in your pants, Tyler."

Tyler shot Ethan an annoyed look. He took his hand out of his jacket pocket, and fished his wallet out from his pants pocket. He handed the cop his documents. The cop riffled through them.

"Do you know why I stopped you?"

"No, officer."

"You were going 65 in a 50 zone. You're 17, is that correct?"

"Yes, officer."

"Which school do you go to?"

"Agincourt."

"Ah, I see. You're late for class."

The officer handed the documents back to Tyler.

"Well, as you see now, speeding isn't going to get you to school any faster than driving the limit. I'll let you go with a warning this time. Next time, leave earlier. You wouldn't want to cause an accident would you?"

"No, officer."

"Good. You're free to go now, drive safely."

As Tyler pulled away from the police car, Ethan put his biology textbook back into his backpack.

"What the fuck was that? I thought we had an agreement! I would handle the pigs!" said Tyler.

Ethan replied, "You almost got our asses killed, numbnuts! You said you wanted this thing to be big. Some faggot shooting a cop before being lit up like the 4th of July is not big. I'll back you up, but that doesn't change the fact that if you act like a complete fucktard, you'll screw this whole fucking thing up."

"You scared, you fucking pussy? Remember, I'm the one running this fucking show."

"Fuck you! Shooting that pig wouldn't have made you any more of a badass than shitting your pants the second he stepped out of the car. You'd probably be in The Star for a day or two before you disappear from public consciousness forever. Nothing would've changed. You want change, right? Stick to the plan."

Unable to find fault in Ethan's logic, Tyler became silent.


	4. Chapter 3: Precipitation

There was something strange about the way Andy handled the traffic stop with the two teens whom were apparently from a nearby high school. Perhaps it was just the culture shock of being in Toronto.

Every stop Ben had conducted was simple and formulaic. While not all motorists agreed, Ben still used the utmost discretion when handing out traffic tickets. Tickets were expensive, especially on the highways, and causing undue grief for a small mistake was something Ben just didn't want to do. Not all officers in his detachment agreed. The others were eager to fill their quota and jump to the next pay grade. But for Ben, being a cop was an end in itself. He was living the dream, at least until circumstances had forced him away from Trenton.

As his mind wandered back to the quiet country roads near the shores of Lake Ontario, Ben suddenly remembered something about one of the teens during the stop.

"That jacket the kid was wearing...I know that jacket. I had one of those."

"So?" replied Andy, clearly disinterested in what Ben had to say.

"They're not the kind of stuff you can find at Canadian Tire. It's top-of-the-line, full NIR spectrum stuff. Super expensive."

"So what?"

"It just seems odd that the guy dresses up like a mall ninja to go to school."

"Okay, cool."

"You have a history with that kid?"

"He doesn't know me personally, but his dad was an old collar of mine. Arrested him a few times for assault or something along those lines. He worked at a factory that went under a few years back."

"What happened to him?"

"About a year ago he blew his brains out."

"Jesus Christ. What's up with the kid?"

"I dunno. The kid's been collared once or twice since his father died, but I don't think he's that bad."

"Poor kid. I hope things are going better for him."

* * *

The school on Midland Avenue known to locals as Agincourt or ACI was founded in 1915 and built for residents of the farming community of Scarborough, just outside of Toronto. The building that stands on that site now was built in 1957 in response to the growing demands of what had become a burgeoning city.

As Tyler parked in a space marked "Student Parking Only", he lamented at how much things have changed since his father's time. Only two decades ago Agincourt's students spoke English and were red-blooded Canadians. Back then, the local school board was the Scarborough Board of Education, and what is now known as the City of Toronto was Metropolitan Toronto. Things were good back then. That is, until things started to change. The county became the City of Toronto. The Scarborough Board of Education dissolved. A tide of immigrants washed the Canada out of Scarborough. Scarborough started to spiral downwards. Looking back, the signs were already there, it just seemed that nobody noticed.

What he and Ethan were about to do was long overdue. The people of Toronto needed a wake-up call. They needed to know about the systematic genocide that has been happening right before their eyes. They needed to know about the lies they have been fed all their life.

"Is the coast clear?" asked Tyler.

Ethan glanced at the live camera feed on his phone.

"Coast is clear."

"Wouldn't have mattered anyway. How did you get the school's security system?"

"The school provisioned the all the computers with an old version of Faronics. It barely took a sweat to hack them."

"Stupid bitches."

"Once I had access all I had to do was run a privilege escalation script, disable buffer overflow protection, and connect the SCADA API through TCP 6667 to my command server."

"You're a smart motherfucker, you know that? Bitches won't know what hit 'em. You ready?"

"I'm always ready."

The two teens exited the car. Tyler popped the trunk.

"We got 15 minutes to plant the rest of the bombs. Loop the camera system."

"Already done."

"Let's go kill the weak ones."

"Godspeed."

"Do I have to say it?"

* * *

When Susan Storm arrived home, she didn't expect anything out of the ordinary. After series of overnight arsons had done extensive damage to several buildings on campus, Susan had decided to return home for a few days to grab a few things she forgot. With Ethan at school, she figured that she could slip in and out, and avoid contact the creepy bastard. Susan opened the garage. Her parents' cars were still inside. She made note to ask them what the occasion was. Parking on the outside on the driveway, Susan unlocked the front door. She opened it, oblivious to the pulley system hastily nailed above the door.

* * *

"Team Three, hot call. Explosion at 109 Salome Drive, Scarborough."


	5. Chapter 4: Stormchasers

_4213: __"__4213 to dispatch, we got an explosion west of Sheppard. 109 Salome Drive. Send fire department, over.__"  
__Dispatch: __"__Copy, 4213. Fire 244 and EMS are en-route.__"  
__4213: __"__4213 to dispatch, 10-33! I've stepped on something I think it's triggered a bomb!__"  
__Dispatch: "All units, 10-33 at 109 Salome Drive. Explosive device triggered."  
Braddock: "This is Constable Sam Braddock of the SRU. Stay put and don't move. We're 40 seconds out.__"_

When Sam and his team arrived, they immediately established an inner and outer perimeter. Spike began setting up his bomb disposal robot Babycakes and others put up yellow police tape to mark the perimeters. As the team made themselves busy, Sam took stock of the situation.

"Spike, give me a sitrep on Babycakes."  
"She's booting up. We'll be rolling in a minute."  
"Okay, good. Jason, sitrep on the casualty."  
"Female, Caucasian, 18 to 20 years of age, multiple shrapnel wounds, including an impalement. She's unconscious and her chest isn't rising evenly."

_Braddock: "Winnie, what's the status on EMS?"  
Camden: "EMS is __3__ minutes away."_

Braddock glanced at the dying woman behind the yellow police tape. Crouched beside her was his officer, who was applying bandages to the victim. A small pool of blood had accumulated under her.

"What should we do boss?" asked the officer.  
"Keep an eye on her. Raise me if her condition changes."  
"Copy."

Sam turned his focus to the house. The front the house had been turned into a pile of rubble by the bomb, exposing the interior of the house which despite the explosion was rather intact. In fact, it almost seemed liveable. In front of the house was a single patrol car with the callsign "4213". Its driver's side door was ajar.

Spike's voice crackled over the radio.  
"Boss, Babycakes is ready."  
"Got it Spike, I'm on my way to the MRAP."

As Sam approached the armoured vehicle another voice raised him over the radio.

"Boss, some uniforms have arrived, they're asking what they should do."  
"Get them to block off the entrances to the road. Nobody gets in without going through me."  
"Copy that."

In the back of the MRAP, Spike held a USB game controller connected to a laptop.

"Babycakes is moving through the front door now."

Spike tilted the screen of his laptop back to give Sam a better view. The robot was climbing a small pile of debris into what remained of the house. After moving the robot down a short hallway, Spike stopped the robot in front of the entrance to the family room, then rotated the camera to face into room.  
In the family room, a lone police officer, still as a statue, standing on a rug. The rug bulged under one of the officer's feet. Behind the policeman was a couch. On the couch were a dozen large bags marked "Ammonium nitrate". Wires ran from the bags all around the room. Nervously, the young cop spoke.

"Hey, could you guys get me out here?"

* * *

_Dispatch: "4209 please respond to fire at Agincourt Collegiate Institute. Fire department has lost contact with Pumper 243. They can't raise Rescue 243 either."  
Tremblay: "Copy that, we're on our way."_

"You think that guy that stepped on a bomb is going to be okay?" asked Ben as he turned on the police cruiser's sirens.  
"Yeah, he should be." replied Andy. "He's in good hands."

Ben looked both ways at the intersection before giving Andy an indication that it was clear.

"This kind of stuff doesn't happen in Toronto." said Andy.  
"This kind of stuff doesn't happen in Canada, let alone Toronto." replied Ben.

When Ben and Andy arrived in the smoky parking lot at ACI they parked in the fire lane behind a fire truck marked Rescue 243. Pumper 243 was parked in front of Rescue 243. Its hoses were connected to the hydrant connection on the side of the school. The two police officers exited their vehicle, and peeped into the trucks.

"Clearly something was burning." remarked Ben. "This place is as foggier than _Silent Hill_."  
Ben took a look around. The parking lot was devoid of life, save for the idling fire trucks.  
"Where is everybody? Are they all just burning in there or what?"  
"Dunno, but the pump is still running on the pumper truck."  
Ben opened the driver's side door on the rescue truck. "The ladder truck's unlocked."  
"Same here on the pumper."  
Ben grabbed an oxygen tank from the pumper truck. "Here, take an oxygen tank. Lets go inside."

As soon as the two officers entered the school, they were immediately greeted by a macabre display of blood and gore. The main office smouldered, a dense white fog filled the lobby. Backpacks, and papers were strewn across the floor. At least seven bodies lay motionless on the ground atop of pools of deep crimson blood.

"What the fuck?" said Ben incredulously.  
"No fucking way..." said Andy, astonished.

Gunshots reverberated into the lobby. The officers drew their weapons.

"I'm guessing they didn't die from smoke inhalation."  
Andy called for backup.  
"4209 to dispatch, 10-33. Shots fired, I repeat shots fired. Active shooter, mass casualties. Requesting tactical, over."

There was an eerie silence.

"4209 to dispatch, 10-33, shots fired, active shooter. Respond, over."  
Ben glanced at Andy.  
"The radio's fucked."  
"The bomb call isn't too far from here. There's units and an SRU team there." suggested Ben.

Another round of gunshots echoed off the walls of the school.

"What about the students? It's an active shooter situation. If we leave, people die. Protocol says we go in and neutralise the threat. SRU can catch up later."  
"I know the whole active shooter spiel, but this place is pretty fucked up, and we don't have backup."  
"Didn't they teach you about Columbine at Aylmer? 15 dead, 21 wounded. We've got half the dead of Columbine in the front lobby already. There's no time. We're going in whether you like it or not."  
"Fine, lets go."

* * *

"The pigs are here." said Ethan as he checked his phone. "It's just two of them, they entered through the front. Looks like they're following the fire hose."  
"Makes my mouth water. I'm always in the mood to carve up some bacon."

The two teens were reloading, taking a short break from slaughtering the weak little sheeple as they feebly tried to escape their wrath. Ethan lost count of their bodycount, but in terms of ammo, they've already fired a total of 300 rounds of any given calibre. So far everything was going to plan, maybe even better.

"Look at them. Carrying around shitty little pistols, trying to look cool. They think they're fucking John McClane or some shit. Faggots, the lot of them."  
"Thick-skulled lackeys of a system for the weak. So full of bullshit hero fantasies they can't even think straight."  
"Just because your mumsy and dadsy told you blood and violence is bad, doesn't mean it's a fucking law of nature."  
Ethan pumped his rifle.  
"Dumbasses didn't even bring a rifle. They're wearing soft armour for fucks sake. They don't stand a chance."  
"They want to be heroes? Let them die as heroes."

* * *

"Fuck, now I wish I brought the shotgun," Ben remarked as they walked through the dark unlit school. They passed enough bodies to lose count.  
"Not that I can admire this kind of crap, but this was pretty damn professional. All the exits are chained up and the windows are vandal-proof so there's no smashing your way out. This took some planning."  
"You think terrorists did this?"  
"Never crossed my mind, but at this point, I don't know what to expect."

Ben lowered his weapon.  
"Hang on, the straps on this damn oxygen pack are killing me."

"That's not the only thing that'll be killing you." said a voice from behind them.

The officers spun around, aiming their weapons at the first thing they saw. What they saw was Ethan Storm holding a 9th grader hostage. A pump-action rifle aimed at the back of the innocent child's head.

"Police! Drop your weapon!" shouted Andy.  
"Sure thing, pig." replied Ethan. "I'll just put the gun down so you can light my ass up. Nice try."  
"It's the end of the road. Put it down, NOW!"  
"I think it'd be wise for _you_ to put down _your_ weapon. We wouldn't want anybody getting hurt, would we?"  
"Hold on now," said Ben. "Lets talk about this. No need to make a big deal out of this, isn't that right, Andy?"

"You know what, you're right. No need to make a big deal out of this." said Ethan.

Ethan pulled the trigger, releasing a geyser of blood and brains from the poor child's head. Before Andy or Ben could react, a second shot rang out.  
A pink mist sprayed from the back of Andy's head. Andy dropped to the floor, dead. Tyler aimed his carbine at Ben.

"So long, fucking pig."

_Click_

"Fuck! It's jammed!"

Wasting no time, Ben turned around, and with one hand grabbed the muzzle of Tyler's gun. Stepping into Tyler's body, Ben grabbed the stock of the 9mm carbine with his other hand and wrenched it out of Tyler's arms. Ben pulled back on the charging handle, clearing the jam, then, as soon as he shouldered the gun, spun around and took aim, ready to fire.

Ethan fired first.

Blood and flesh exploded from a large hole in the side of Ben's police vest. Ben screamed in pain, and retreated around the corner, laying down a wall of lead to cover his escape. Ethan returned fire, blasting chunks of concrete out of the wall. Reaching a stairwell, Ben dropped his oxygen pack and climbed to the second floor. He was in agonising pain. Ben managed to stumble into a bathroom and lock the door from the inside. Soon after, he passed out.

A river of blood flowed from underneath the bathroom door.

* * *

_Dispatch: "4209 from Dispatch, 10-20, over."_

_Dispatch: "4209, what's your status, over."_

_Dispatch: "4209, respond."_


End file.
